Mon Chéri
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Chris and Jill had originally planned to meet in Paris before moving onto Umbrella's HQ, but Raccoon City and Rockfort Island had delayed their plans. Now, nineteen years later, they'd finally made up for lost time.


**Mon Chéri**

The café was called "La Petite Fleur."

Even Chris knew that it meant "The Little Flower," if translated into English. He wasn't that up to speed on foreign languages, as over the years, he'd accumulated various phrases in various languages, but had never stayed in any one country long enough to really specialize in any of them. But, he knew some French. Enough to say "vous parles Anglais?" and understand "oui" or "non." But, Jill knew enough French to get them through the hazards of Paris. Enough to say, when asked "que puis-je vous faire?", to say "un blanc plat et un long noir s'il vous plaît."

"Je reviens tout de suite," the waiter said, and headed back out from the summer sun.

"Merci," Chris murmured. He looked at Jill. "You did say a long black right?"

"Long black and a flat white, yes," she said. She smiled. "Didn't take you for much of a coffee drinker. Well, not outside you having to keep up at least."

"Which is all the time these days."

"You should apply for leave."

"Yeah, sure. And you should be taking it easy."

"I _am_ taking it easy. That's why we're in Paris."

It wasn't, Chris reflected. He was in Paris because a summit was being held on the issues of bio-terrorism that still continued to plague the world, and he was attending on behalf of the BSAA. Jill was in Paris for the same reason. Difference was that after Paris, he'd be headed for Charles du Galle Airport for a flight to Mexico, while Jill would be staying put, continuing to work with BSAA officials. Not yet cleared for active duty and all that. One week from now, duty would put them on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

"Votre café, madame."

The waiter had come back with coffee in hand. Black and white ended up on opposite sides of the table. Chris gave a non-committal thanks. Jill said "c'était rapide," and the waiter smiled. No doubt he saw a normal woman in her early forties enjoying the summer weather. Not the woman that Chris saw.

"Well," Jill said, coffee in hand. "Bottoms up."

"Isn't there a French word for that?"

"Probably. My French isn't perfect you know."

"Yeah? Could have fooled me."

He took a sip. The coffee was good, but he immediately regretted it. It was summer. The wrong weather for coffee. He was sweating like a pig, whereas Jill seemed unaffected.

"Funny, isn't it?" she said.

"What is?"

"Us, in Paris." She took a sip. "We were meant to meet here before moving on Umbrella's European HQ twenty years ago."

"Twenty years." Chris leant back in his chair. "That long?"

"That long."

He snorted. "Yeah, well, between you being in Raccoon City, and me having to save my sister-"

"How is your sister anyway?"

"Fine," he said. "Fine."

She probably was, but he couldn't help but wonder. He'd joined the BSAA, she'd joined TerraSave. One would have thought a career in the latter would be safer, but somehow Claire had got herself caught up in nearly as many incidents as he had. Every time he saw her, he could see that his sister had changed. Had become harder. Older. Colder. Changed just like he had. Like Barry had. Like Sheva had. Like Jill had.

Outwardly, Jill looked normal. Older than she'd been twenty years ago when they'd first met in the RPD HQ, but still clearly the same woman. Same height, same figure, even the old brunette hair. But, she'd changed, Chris could tell. Changed ever since Kijuju. He'd never been the same since that place either, but Jill…he could barely tell anymore. When you knew someone for over a decade, you could see changes in them. He couldn't even say if the changes were bad or not – at the least, she wasn't in much danger of getting herself killed right now. But still…

"You alright?"

He looked at her over his untouched coffee. Hers was half full.

"You're awfully quiet."

"Fine," he said.

"Fine," Jill repeated, taking a sip. "That's the same word you used for Claire." Another sip. "I'm fine too, in case you're wondering."

"I do wonder."

No sip came this time. Jill just looked at him, before saying, "you know I'm going to get back in the field right?"

"I know."

"And that I don't need your blessing."

"I do."

"Good." She leant back, and Chris felt cold. Summer's light had been hidden by a cloud, and a breeze was picking up. He cast his gaze out over the people in the street, many of whom were younger than him. People who'd been born after 1998. People who'd grown up in an age of terror, but so far managed to be coping.

"Did you think it would be like this?" Chris asked, and Jill looked up at him. "After Russia, when Umbrella went down. Did you think that nothing would change?"

"I…" Jill sighed. "I guess I hoped it would."

"Did you think about what we'd do after Umbrella?"

Another sigh. "Back then…y'know, I can barely remember back then. I can barely remember Raccoon City even." A pause. "What about you?"

"Didn't think," he said. "Just thought…"

"Thought what?"

He didn't say anything. Not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't even remember what the Chris Redfield of 2003 had thought about what he'd do after Umbrella was exposed for the bastards that they were. He could only remember what he'd felt about what was then there here and now. Umbrella had to go down. STARS and everyone in Raccoon City had to have justice given to them. But most of all, he remembered how he'd talked with Jill. How they'd looked at each other. How it wasn't nearly as awkward as this. Back in 2003, he hadn't had to worry about being a man in his early forties, fighting the same war he'd fought for over a decade. And he didn't have to worry about Jill being in the same position.

"Well then," Jill said, raising her coffee. "Here's to twenty years."

"Nineteen," Chris said. "It's 2017."

"Close enough."

"Yeah. You're right. That's why I got this."

He leant down under the seat for his backpack. In it was his ID tag, a Glock, and a small cardboard box. He put it on the table, and Jill stared at it.

"Little something," he said. "Since we're both in Paris, and you may be back in the field soon."

Jill looked at him as if to say "there's no _may be_ about it," but said nothing. She just sat and watched as Chris opened the box. Inside it was-

"A beret?" Jill picked it up and held it in her hands, turning it round, as if looking for an insignia.

"Yeah," Chris said. "I mean…it's France, and berets are French, and you used to wear a beret, and, um-"

"In STARS," Jill pointed out.

"Yeah, but…" He trailed off. It was getting hot again. The sun was shining, the coffee was steaming, and-

"Huh. It fits."

Jill had put it on. She was also right. It did fit. It had been twenty years, but there she was. Wearing a beret. All it needed now was the BSAA logo stitched onto it.

"Y'know I don't even remember why I wore this," she said. "I-"

"Good luck."

"Hmm?"

"Good luck. You told me it was your good luck hat or something."

"…I did?"

"Well, I think you did. You asked me why I had a broken yoyo in my locker, and I asked you why you had a beret, and, well, don't remember the rest."

"You remembering that at all…I think that's enough." Jill took the beret off and looked at it again. "Course, you realize the original hat's been atomized by now."

Chris didn't say anything. But when he saw Jill smile…he didn't need to.

"Thanks," she said. "Really."

"Really?"

"Yeah. It's a nice thought and hey, I'll be sure to wear it the next time I'm out in the field."

Chris took a sip of his coffee. It was cooler now. He raised the cup up and said, "another twenty years then?"

"If it takes that long." She raised her own and they clinked. "But hey, we'll always have Paris."

Chris supposed so.


End file.
